


A Haunting Visit

by Isis



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dreams, Gen, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5097596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flint, on the deck of the Spanish Man O' War.  (Set between episodes IX and X, the first two of S2.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Haunting Visit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arithanas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/gifts).



Flint did not sleep well at the best of times, and this was not the best of times; not by a long shot. Not with his injuries, with his ship beached and broken, with his men turned against him and his only ally Silver, a man he didn't trust as far as he could throw him. (If only he _could_ throw him – overboard. If only.)

At least he was on a ship again, even if it was not his ship. Not _yet_ his ship.

Silver rolled over, kicking Flint in the shin, and began to snore. It wasn't looking as though he'd get any sleep at all that night.

"You don't deserve any sleep," said a familiar voice.

"Funny thing, that," said Flint. Then his eyes flew open. "Well, I'll be damned."

Gates snorted. "We can only hope."

Flint propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look. Yes, that was definitely Gates standing before him, leaning against the rail. He could still see a faint outline of the Spanish ship's rail through Gates' body. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you damned?" asked Flint, curious. "Did you meet your Maker? Were the golden gates of Heaven barred to you?"

"That'd be telling." 

_He's dead_ , thought Flint. _I killed him, and he's dead._ _And he's here now, speaking to me._ His gut gave an experimental heave and tried to exit through his gullet, but he quelled it through pure power of thought. Instead he asked, "Are you here to gloat?"

"Nay. Though I wish I could. You've done some terrible things, you have, Captain Flint."

"Tell me about it. No, don't," he added quickly, seeing Gates' mouth open. He was not sure he could stand a recitation of his failings on top of everything else. Even the ones Gates knew about would make a dispiriting litany; and then there were the ones he didn't know about, from the old days. Or at least, Gates hadn't known of them when he was living. It was entirely possible that the dead had more information.

"I was only about to correct meself. Seeing as how you're not Captain now."

"So you've noticed that, have you."

"Couldn't help but notice that you're sleeping on the deck rather than in the cabin."

" _Trying_ to sleep," Flint said pointedly. "It would be a sight easier if you'd go away."

"Oh, I don't think you'd want that." Gates sounded surprisingly cheery for someone who was dead. "I've got something to tell you I think you'd like to hear."

"Why would you tell me anything I'd like to hear?"

"Grudges are for the living, Mr. no-longer-Captain Flint. And I can't deny that your current situation is to some extent my doing."

"And your current situation is my doing, so we're even. Now that we've got that settled, do you think you could go away and let me sleep?" He dropped back down to his makeshift bedding and made a show of closing his eyes, though he kept a watch on Gates' ghost through slitted lids. It wasn't as though he'd be able to sleep; every muscle in his body was as taut as a strung halyard, every sense on sharp alert. 

"Well, if you don't want to be in command again..."

Flint opened his eyes fully to see Gates grinning at him. 

"I thought that might get your attention. Y'see, I know Dufresne, being as how he was accountant when I was quartermaster."

"Go on."

"He's a clever man. Well, he'd have to be, wouldn't he."

"Entirely too clever," muttered Flint, sitting up again.

"Ah," said Gates, holding up a ghostly finger. Flint could see a winch through it. "That's just it. He thinks he's the cleverest person around. He thinks he's more clever than you are."

"Well, of course he _thinks_ he's more clever," said Flint, irritably. Then it struck him, suddenly, what Gates was driving at, and his irritation vanished. A small smile crossed his lips. "I imagine I can think of something to prove his point. But why are you telling me?"

"As I said, grudges are for the living. And we were friends, once."

"That we were," said Flint. "Thank you, I suppose. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry I killed you."

Gates grinned. "Not half as sorry as I am. Well, I'll leave you to your beddie-bye."

"Before you do, have you – " But Gates was gone.

Flint lay back and closed his eyes. Maybe it was for the best that he hadn't been able to to ask Gates about Thomas. He would have had to explain why he cared about some dead aristocrat, and he didn't think he was quite up to that explanation.

"Ah, well," he muttered. "I don't need to tell you, after all."

"Tell me what?" said a cheery voice beside him. He opened his eyes again; the morning sun was beating down on the deck, and that damnable Silver was crouched beside him.

"Tell you to get moving," said Flint, pulling himself to his feet. Apparently he had slept, after all. "Time to talk to Dufresne."


End file.
